Surrender
by Avandra the Mary Sue Slayer
Summary: Sometimes, doing whatever makes you happy is the only reasonable option. Gerita oneshot, HRE references.


**This is my first APH fic, so please be nice. It's a oneshot set at the end of WWII and something that I needed to get off my chest. Don't expect the rest of my APH stories to be so angsty, though. It's just inevitable when HRE is involved!**

 **Also, before you read; my stories will always include a small cultural or historical explanation about them at the end, in the form of an author's note. Anyway, I hope you like my first Hetalia fanfic! Don't forget to leave a nice review!**

* * *

Germany sighed as he slumped on the floor, behind the wall.

He shouldn't have done that.

He should have never tried to attack the Soviet Union. Russia, along with his sisters and allies, had got a lot stronger than he expected. To top it all, winter had come unexpectedly fast while he and his troops were in the violet-eyed man's territory -maybe the weather was answering his demonic prayers?

Soviet soldiers had been born in that unforgiving climate, and so were unfazed by the cold that froze a good part of the blond's troops to death. What at first seemed to be yet another victory for him soon became a forceful retreat. It was the beginning of a series of defeats that forced him back to his home. The Allies began the invasion, and foreseeing his defeat, his superior committed suicide to avoid being caught by the vengeful soldiers. His own allies weren't doing any better; Italy had been swiftly defeated by England and America -which didn't surprise him that much- and Japan, though still fighting fiercely, had seen his expansion halted by the enemy nations and was eventually forced to retreat.

And now, the Allies had cornered him like a rat.

The German's situation was now desperate.

He ran his hands up his sleek blond hair, pondering what to do. He was playing at home, yet he had lost most of his troops and military potential. He had been too careless, and now he was paying the price…

"C-captain?"

Italy's voice pulled him from his thoughts. He was slowly walking towards the German, hiding something behind his back. He had been opposed to the muscular man's departure to the Soviet frontier, and though he had paid no heed to his worries, now he regretted not having listened to his friend. His _only_ friend left… The thought of losing him to that endless war was just terrifying. So used the blond had grown to his warm smile, that he ended up finding himself searching for it every day in every little thing he did. Lately, though, not even the once carefree male could bring himself to smile anymore. Even he was aware that they were losing.

"How did you get here?" Germany questioned, surprised that the petite man made it to his hideout without a nasty encounter with the allied forces.

"They sent me" he sadly replied.

 _What?_

"I've surrendered" he explained "My leader's gone, so… it's time for me to do the right thing"

 _No… not him. He couldn't betray him like this._

"I'm sorry, Germany" the auburn-haired man stammered, his brown eyes wide open and brimming with tears "I can't keep doing this. _We_ can't keep doing this. What our superiors did was wrong, and now that they're gone there's no reason for us to continue with this…"

"Did they send you to finish me off?" the blond growled, rising from his sitting position and making the other man take one step back, choking a sob.

"No! I'm here to give you this"

Italy finally showed what he had been hiding. It was a wooden stick with a white cloth attached to it.

A white flag.

"You have to be kidding me" Germany sighed in dismay. He had devoted his life to fighting, how could Italy think he'd surrender now?

However, what the Italian said next made him gasp in surprise.

"I'm not. This is the only solution to this conflict" he said, wiping the already falling tears with the sleeve of his uniform "If you don't surrender now, you… you will die"

The shorter man started to openly cry. Germany stretched his arm to put his hand in Italy's shoulder, but he backed away. The blond froze. Was his best friend, the one person in that world that he loved, going to leave him alone? Did he really want nothing to do with him anymore, after all they had been through?

"I'm sorry, Germany" he sobbed "I really am, but as I said, I can't keep doing this… and neither can you. Stop trying to be like Grandpa Rome. You don't need to be like him. You don't need to… die like him"

The tanned man drew a breath, staring at his feet, and then offered Germany his white flag one last time, locking eyes with him.

"When a country becomes too powerful, it inevitably dies" he said, his voice and semblant no longer whiny, but unusually firm "Please, Germany, don't do this" then his voice shifted to a barely audible whisper "I can't lose you… not again…"

 _Not again?_

"Ugh…" What was that sudden headache? The soldier bent in pain clutching his head, as images started to flood his mind.

He had never been one to look back and question the past. As Germany, he had always been the warrior he was now. But there was something else…

When he was a child, he used to be another person, with a different name.

Those memories were so vivid now that they hurt him. He remembered his initial fights with Italy when he'd refuse to form the Roman Empire with him again. It was funny that he used to chase him around, when later it was the Italian who did the exact same thing to him. He harbored really fond memories of their time together, like when the Mediterranean nation taught him art, or when they bathed together in the river…

Those times were the happiest of his life as the Holy Roman Empire, just like his time with him as Germany. However, he was now facing their goodbye. The kid that once held a broom for him was now all grown up, not into the woman everyone had expected, but into a man. Not any less beautiful to his blue eyes, though. And the man now held a flag and begged for Germany to take it.

It was then that he remembered.

When he still was the Holy Roman Empire, he told young Italy he had loved him since the 900 A.D. He accepted his broom as a token of his affection, and gave the boy one of his own in the form of a sweet, tender kiss. Their first and last.

Germany stared at the tearful Italian in shock. He had been true to his word, and he had kept his promise of waiting for him.

But he broke his.

He never came back to him.

He died, and when he opened his eyes again, he wasn't the boy he used to be anymore. His identity and the promises he once made were now empty and forgotten.

The blond clenched his fists in anger. How could he have forgotten the real reason he fought his wars for?

"Germany?"

Italy was staring at him, patiently waiting for an answer. His sad brown eyes bore through his blue ones, pleading and beckoning. It was more than enough to make the taller man crack. He quickly covered the distance between them and pulled the shorter male into a tight embrace. The latter quickly gave into the feeling of the German's strong arms wrapped around him, and his fingers softly caressing his auburn hair. The Italian rested his head on the man's ample chest, circling his waist with his fragile arms. After a short while, he stood on his tiptoes and closed his eyes, trying to reach the taller man, who just smiled and leaned in closer to cover the distance between their lips.

Explosions and shots could be heard everywhere. The enemy was closing in, ready to pounce and defeat Germany for good. But right then, it was just the two of them. Two kids who had loved and lost, only to be found again. Their second kiss, thus, was a welcome back kiss.

* * *

America adjusted his glasses. Was he seeing what he thought he was?

Germany and Italy stepped out of their hideout, unarmed. They were walking hand in hand. Before anyone could do anything, the tall blond raised a white flag. Even Russia seemed confused by the sudden turn of events. The muscular man waved his flag and took a breath.

"I surrender" he finally said.

Maybe he had been wrong all along, and his dream had lain closer than he originally thought. Fighting, winning and conquering never brought him the satisfaction he had hoped, but only worries and regrets. So maybe if he surrendered, he would find the happiness he lost when he left his first and only love…

* * *

 **After the fall of fascism in Italy, the Italian resistance joined the Allied Powers, secretly initiating peace negotations. However, German soldiers rescued Mussolini and Hitler named him once more head of the fascist government in Milan. After the Allies finally defeated Italy, Mussolini tried to escape, but was eventually executed by members of the resistance.**


End file.
